


The Close Kind of Encounters

by KaranSeraph



Series: Memory [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alien Culture, Crack, F/M, Holomatter Avatar Shenanigans, Implausibly Attractive Avatars, Lost in Translation, M/M, Multi, Robots In Disguise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaranSeraph/pseuds/KaranSeraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuing the adventures from Starscream Memory and related fics: A new group of Transformers has come to Earth; their need for secrecy requires extensive use of alt-modes and holomatter avatars, but their inexperience with Earth culture leads to some humorous misadventures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is rather episodic in nature, and will be split between the characters' undercover missions on Earth, and brief planning or response sessions between said missions. Though it is a Work in Progress, it is intended that the mission chapters can be read as stand-alone stories.
> 
> Also be prepared for cracktastic homages to Transformers and other Hasbro-related media. Just crack and in-jokes all around, really.

Red Alert walked into recreation chamber sigma, which had recently become their star ship's center for Earth studies, since the Lycoris parked at the Lagrange point on the side of Luna opposite Earth. They had relays on the surface of Luna and in its orbit transmitting captured feeds from Earth, via the Nemesis wreck, hacked Earth satellites and cyber-engineered space debris, to allow the crew sufficient access to human broadcasts, data and communications networks, in order to learn of their vehicles, languages, and customs, enough to develop their disguises for upcoming missions.

Standing orders were that every member of their team, whether they expected assignment to Earth or not, have functioning facsimile circuitry equipped to project a holomatter avatar; comprehend and speak at least one widely-used human language; and acquire a scan of an Earth vehicle, creature, or device of comparable mass and function, in order to convert their alt-mode. Those were the minimum requirements. Those anticipating or desiring posts on Earth were to submit human names and plausible back story, for the appearance of their vehicle and avatar, to the Intelligence Officer for approval.

Red Alert had accomplished these tasks. She had converted her alt-mode, edited her avatar to conform to human physical parameters, learned one language and started learning another, and submitted her information to Slipstream. She'd been permitted one trip to Earth, but the humans had treated her so strangely, Red Alert had been forced to conclude she was doing something wrong. She needed some help.

Red Alert looked about the chamber. Various members of the team were about their study, some interacting in holomatter form, others watching captured broadcasts, and others still with the still look of using an internal data link. Skywarp's distinctive avatar was explaining the rules to some Decepticon cycle-models fresh out of stasis. Barricade was seated at a bench and apparently talking to himself; probably practicing language skills.

Red Alert had determined Barricade was the most likely to assist her. The problem was he did not like her very much. Her being an Autobot probably had a lot to do with that.

 

Barricade saw Red Alert approach. He kept one lens of his dual optics focused on her and continued practicing English. He'd passed all the other criteria for assignment to Earth, but he was having trouble speaking any of their languages. “Step off of the vehicle. Registration and license.”

“Excuse me.” As she spoke, Barricade scanned the room with three of his four optic lenses. No one else was nearby. Red Alert was actually speaking to...him.

“What do you want?” he asked, in Decepticon. He could not think what the Autobot could possibly have to discuss. 

She answered in Decepticon; obviously she had some ability with language. “Your tattoos look a bit different. English. And...what is this language?” She pointed to the quarter panel just above his wrist-wheel, with that medi-tool.

Barricade drew his hand in toward his chassis, then turned his head; three lenses on Red Alert and one on the nearby monitor displaying a crime drama. “A medi-bot should know: the marks stay, but the nanites rearrange to accommodate alien writing. And, that's a dead language, like Old Cybertronian, called 'Latin', a bit of pomp and tradition that makes men feel part of a proper fraternal organization.”

“You converted to Earth type alt-mode?” This should have been obvious from fact his security markings were now in English...and Latin.

“All Decepticons look alike to you, I suppose?”

“Not all.” She smiled. It was common knowledge she was bonded to one; she wasn't going to confuse him with Barricade. “You have functioning facsimile circuitry?”

“Sort of. Why?”

“I need your help.”

For several millicycles, Barricade just stared, then he laughed. Not in a hundred stellar cycles would he have expected Red Alert to believe he would help her with anything, much less ask.

“I can make it worth your while.” This had to be a joke, he thought. Maybe Ramjet was messing with him.

“Can you?” Barricade asked. He dropped his left hand and extended his blade wheel; did not expose the blades, just extended the tire and claws from his arm. He lifted his arm and retracted the blade wheel; it clicked solidly back into place.

To her credit, Red Alert gave no outward sign of fear, but then they both knew she had friends in his chain-of-command. The Autobot was off limits. “I understand you need help with English,” she said, in English, but with a regional accent he found frustrating.

Barricade could comprehend a little better than he could speak the language; a little. He had extensive vocabulary and syntax databases installed, but getting the correct string of words for a particular situation from database to processor to vocalizer was a bit glitchy. He was better with math. “And if I did?” Barricade asked, still using Decepticon.

“I am cleared to go to Earth, and I am already fluent in English.”

Barricade dropped and lifted his blade wheel again. He said nothing, just waited for the Autobot to make her point.

“You are cleared to pilot the drop ship, but not to interact with Humans without being fluent in at least one language...unless you have another teammate to do the talking.”

But, he wasn't exactly the only one capable of piloting the drop ship. “Tell me your real reason,” he said.

Red Alert quickly sucked air through the intake at her throat and then slowly exhaled through rounded lip plates. Barricade had seen her do this before, from a short distance. It was the tell that the icy demeanor she presented was giving way to her rumored high strung nature. “It's a place for grounders,” she said; he noticed the pace of her words was quicker now, “and you have skills in hunting: observing, seeking weaknesses, getting information.”

Barricade did not know much about Red Alert. The official cover story was that she was an Autobot spy, that being bonded to Ramjet was just her cover, but that the other Seekers knew she was a spy, and were keeping her with them in order to feed false information to the Autobot Science Council. Of one thing Barricade was certain: when your commanding officers told you something was the 'official cover story', the truth was anything but. If he helped the Autobot now, he might learn something he could use later. “All right,” he said, “I'm in. I get us planet side and help you observe the humans; you allow me opportunity to hear the language spoken by natives and help me with my language skills.”


	2. Sexy Nurse and Dirty Cop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barricade and Red Alert visit Maramba Bros. Auto Supply in Detroit.

The Detroit riverfront was home to numerous parks and residential communities, which had flourished and deteriorated in a cycle of urban expansion, decline, decay, and renewal, as industries came and went from the city, like tides on the coasts of the Great Lakes. One such riverfront community was home to a particular abandoned boat house. It had been scheduled for restoration by a local businessman named Powell, but a series of UFO reports at the location, a police investigation into stolen consumer electronics found at the sight, and some legal suits against Powell involving toy licenses had caused co-investors to drop-out of the deal. The boathouse was now an unofficial Decepticon sub-station.

The shabby interior of the boat house was now occupied by what seemed two emergency vehicles registered to separate Detroit City service departments. The black police interceptor with white door panels and seemingly official security markings and lights revved its engine. A few probes were deployed experimentally from the grill and then retracted. The siren whooped once, powerfully, and then whined to a halt. The monitor within the vacant interior of the interceptor flashed into function, displaying alien characters, indicating there was a ping from the other vehicle over one of the available comm channels.

'Switch to scheme Malgus 0110.0 Zeta,' Barricade commanded over the requested comm. There was no need to alert the humans in the area by speaking aloud, even if they would not understand the sound as language.

'Confirmed,' Red Alert replied using the new scheme.

'Seriously?' Barricade commed, his skeptical, jaded tone carrying over their connection; one he was monitoring for any hidden Autobot signals or back traces. 'That's your new alt-mode?'

Red Alert's siren sounded twice: woo woo. Her ventilation system hissed and whooshed. 'It is an Earth vehicle of appropriate mass and function for my frame,' she said defensively, 'I scanned images from many official sources on their Internet to achieve this deco. I figured fire department was appropriate, since they have associated emergency medical technicians and are often dispatched to vehicular accidents.'

'I may have trouble with the language, but even I know the names of American car makes and historical landmarks in the Motor City and “Lamborghini” is not among them! I was compelled to fit myself into this Ford.' Said Ford was customized, but only so much as one might expect from an interceptor. Law Enforcement policy and procedure was something Barricade had already mastered – practical application was another matter. 

The left-side door of the low-slung white sports car scissored up, and out climbed a humanoid figure. The humanoid, Red Alert's holomatter avatar, was an extension of her self. She walked over to Barricade, on apparent white, patent leather platform heels; as proportionally tall and slender to human standard as her root form was to Autobot sports-models. “This is not my first time here,” she said in English with a slight regional accent, which Barricade only recognized as not being from Detroit. “Last time, 'cool car!' was the only thing humans said about my alt-mode.” The English was based on samples from natives of Ireland, which fit with Red Alert's specific back story.

Barricade remained in his alt-mode, refusing to activate his avatar, or even to lower his tinted windows. The computer inside his cabin had access to cracked DPD systems, as well as the Internet, internal Cybertronian systems and their team's battlenet. Its display matched what he saw on his virtual HUD. Right now, Red Alert's proximity in humanoid form triggered alien interaction subroutines. His sensors scanned her form, his processor rapidly accessed available databases for relevant matching data, and his subroutines suggested actions.

Right now Barricade's systems were suggesting he ask for a sponge bath, or else ask about her backhand. Neither, as he understood the activities, seemed anything he desired to communicate to the Autobot. Matches to image databases were tagged with terms like 'night nurse', 'tennis', and 'dancer'.

This, he thought was likely her problem: that apart from the ill-advised alt-mode, the scant and flimsy white armor on her humanoid form was just wrong. But, if he pointed this out now, he might not get his chance to interact with actual humans. Instead, he commed, 'I take it you developed this avatar yourself? And it was approved?'

“Part of my preparation on our journey to Earth was a study of human anatomy and physiology,” She tossed her head so that her shoulder-length red-orange hair swayed violently. Barricade was wondering if Red Alert might switch from her detached medi-bot persona to twitchy security force member – he had heard rumors. Red Alert, in holomatter form, took a series of deep, slow breaths, which Barricade thought sounded like some kind of organic equivalent of ventilation or internal combustion. “I selected to portray myself as female, as the human race does display sexual dimorphism, which plays a large part in gender identity. I could have given myself a few more assets, but I was aiming primarily for an example of fitness and athleticism rather than idealized beauty or stimulation of mating drives.”

'Scans as human to me,' Barricade said. He considered making a note of the fur flipping – hair flipping, rather – and looking into alternate definitions for 'assets'.

Red Alert was accustomed to being found attractive. Even putting effort into being noticed for her scientific processing ability, she was still used to finding optics tracking the contours of her shell. Even when she'd been formatted as a utility vehicle, she'd still retained a lot of her sport-model heritage in root mode; the larger alt-mode had been accommodated with extra panels of skirt armor, a larger weight carried on her back, and a prominent front bumper to balance that weight. Maybe she needed to pad the measurement of the avatar's chest area a bit. “Do I-?”

“It's language I need help with, remember? Geometry works out fine, trust me,” Barricade lied. He hadn't recalculated anything. He was busy running every passive scan he had on Red Alert's actual hardware. The Earth vehicle she imitated had a V12 engine, and that sounded like something more or better than V8. Of course their internal parts were Cybertronian, but he wondered if she was really that powerful – and fast given her slight weight and mass.

He really hated Autobots – not that he truly loved the Decepticons. 'Can we roll out?'

“Let me see you; your avatar,” Red Alert said. She tried to see through the tinted windows. Barricade had all his signal dampening and stealth devices running active, already, so she could not really tell if he had even activated the holomatter generator. “No point in this experiment, if you do not have a suitable avatar.”

'I have one. It's suitable. You can see it when we reach the destination. I'll drive.'

“I am not getting inside you!”

'I came with you alone...to Detroit.' They both knew Optimus Prime's team of Autobots was known to be operating in Detroit again, which was fine for Red Alert, but not so much for Barricade, even if they were now, both on the same team...sorta. 'Besides, this way you can test whether it was the alt-mode making humans treat you oddly, or something about your avatar or behavior.' 

As Barricade had figured, a bit of logic spiced with a word like 'test', was enough to convince the science 'Bot. He had a list of words – Cybertronian ones – that he frequently used to manipulate Starscream, including, 'hypothesis', 'theorize', and 'exothermic'.

He shut down the internal monitor and popped open his passenger side door. Red Alert knew she was going to have to cooperate. She walked around the rear of Barricade's vehicular form, away from the few probes he had use of without a symbiont partner, which she knew to be located at his front end. She ran a holomatter finger of her left hand along Barricade's spoiler. He inched forward on his tires, thinking that the left hand would be the one with the medi-tool, if she was in her hardware, and not operating this remote avatar.

Red Alert laughed, a light organic sound that was unlike the chirps and trills of her usual laughter. She slid into the front passenger seat. Barricade wished he could have her in the back; it was bad enough the Autobot was inside him, but somehow the back seat felt less close – away from the drive controls. Unfortunately, he was no police wagon or common squad car and the rear seat was smaller and slightly more difficult to access than in four-door models.

“I could drive,” Red Alert suggested, “It looks wrong to humans if you have no driver.”

Barricade sent a wireless command to the door opener device and the doors opposite the river opened onto a quiet drive within the residential community. What looked wrong, he suspected, was a female human in flimsy attire seated in a police car. Fortunately, his cover story allowed him to be a dirty cop. Red Alert pulled the passenger door shut just as Barricade accelerated hard onto the drive.

“And, you should at least attempt to communicate in English.”

“Buckle-up for safety!” Barricade said, vocalizer sounding English words, as he applied brakes. He shuddered to a halt, as Red Alert's holomatter body reacted almost as an organic might and sailed – with a quirky lag that made her seem to float – forward into the dashboard. “I need to ask you to fasten your safety belt, Ma'am.”

“Barricade!” Red Alert complained. She scooted back into the seat and reached for the over-the-shoulder harness. If her holomatter avatar was injured, there was a chance her actual processor would suffer, if buffers could not compensate quickly enough. 

“Do not speak aloud that designation. We are not friends. You may address me 'Detective', 'Detective Barris', or 'Sir'.” Barricade said as he rolled along the drive. He fell in among the morning commuters. Red Alert could hear, now he was not using memorized phrases, that his conversational English was quite stilted. The monitor secured among the central controls powered on, displaying what appeared an arrangement of typical human contact information, including a name with title.

Red Alert laughed again. “Seriously? And you made fun of my alt-mode? All you did was find the English word that corresponded to the meaning of your Cybertronian name and then search for sound-alike human names.”

“Inaccurate,” Barricade insisted and accessed his prepared cover story. “Various Celtic and Gaelic names were trendy at the time of my birth. My parents, Richard and Stacy Barris, named me Caddock, because they were...trendy. I also have a step-father named Jack, but I adopted no names from him. My friends call me Cade. Only my mother and instructors call me Caddock. It is Welsh. It means 'keen in battle'.”

The story sounded plausible to Red Alert. “If you take the left-”

“Destination?”

“Maramba Brothers Auto Supply. It's-”

“Got it.” The business was listed in publicly accessible map and GPS databases.

“Did you have three creators, actually?”

“Best lie includes some truth.” Not confirmation; not denial. Honestly, Barricade did not know who his creators might have been, as he had been raised by the faction. Intelligence files he'd accessed did give him three suspects, however, so he was going with that story.

“I decided on the name Minerva for use here,” Red Alert said. “Do you know what it means?”

“Female deity. Polytheism. Roman. Governs both wisdom and martial arts.” It was in some ways easy infiltrating a world on which natives were of a level of development to have so many slackly guarded wireless networks and publicly accessible databases. They advertised so many of their weaknesses and concerns. The only glaring problem so far, was that when everyone could contribute data, the aliens had the burden of deciding which humans knew what they were talking about. “Got it – I mean – I get it.” Red Alert was both a scientist in the field of Cybertronian medicine, and a member of the Autobot security forces.

“Yes, 'got it' has more of the meaning of 'understood' or 'confirmed', where 'I get it' means 'it now occurs to me' or 'I now understand the significance'.”

“That was helpful,” Barricade said as he drove, but not “thanks”.

“I had three: parents,” Red Alert said.

Barricade had met her creators, he had even met Red Alert before she came to New Kaon, but he was not certain whether Red Alert understood this. They had both undergone reformatting in the past, so that even though they had been working in the same region of Cybertron for millions of stellar cycles, during the Great War, she had been in her utility vehicle form and he had been disguised as one of the Autobot's Autotroopers. Though some of their current teammates were aware, no one had specifically informed Red Alert that Barricade used to be an undercover operative on Cybertron. So, unless Barricade wanted to be certain to draw her attention to this – that he had actively sabotaged security measures and operations she, her kin, friends, and co-workers had put in place – he could not reply that he had, as an Autotrooper, served under Clamp Down for some time. So, he purposely asked, “Is it true one of your parents is that...poster model?”

“I suspect you mean 'spokesmodel'. Yes, Tracks has appeared in advertisements endorsing particular makes of mods, and he is one of my Creators. The other two work in security and enforcement.”

Deep Cover was presently undercover in New Kaon, as the Decepticon Breakdown. They both knew this: Red Alert because she had made contact with him there, and Barricade because Acid Storm had mentioned the spy being identified in a briefing. Apparently Red Alert's good friend Starscream had been the informant, but Barricade had no idea how idea how Starscream would know that any of Red Alert's creators would be undercover in New Kaon, much less what their cover identity might be. The only one of the Seekers Red Alert had known to have this information was Slipstream, but she had promised she had purged that data.

“Some of mine might have worked in enforcement. Stacy.”

“I did not think it was a very common profession among...your people.”

“Not common.” Actually, 'Stacy' – Barricade's creator or not – was an Autobot, but the only Decepticons that knew of the potential connection were ones with access to highly classified intelligence files. Barricade had no idea if the Autobot's knew one of their own was a bit of a rogue. Red Alert had heard about there being some Autobots with less than honorable morals, but if someone had suggested to her one had sparked with Decepticons, she would have assumed it was against their will. That was, until recently. Ramjet was carrying the newspark she had conceived with him right now.

Barricade laughed, realizing for himself that he was keeping his potentially mixed heritage from an Autobot who was herself bonded to a Decepticon and soon to be transferring their newspark to a sparkling shell.

“What is so funny?” Red Alert asked.

“Just funny that we have anything in common.”

Red Alert squirmed in the seat; it was a little uncomfortable for Barricade. “It's up here on the right,” she said, “The strip mall. You understand about parking lots, I take it?”

“Yes.” Nag, he thought.

“You should activate your holomatter.” Barricade, she thought, was unnerving. His lack of disclosure, about everything, made her so anxious. She never knew how much he knew or what he was planning. Relatively speaking, Barricade made her appreciate Hot Shot, who talked about himself a lot; and she had usually found Hot Shot really annoying.

Barricade activated his holomatter, but did not transfer control. The humanoid figure sat still, with vacant expression, as he turned into the parking lot and prowled along the rows of vehicles, until he located the sign indicating which facade in the strip was Maramba Brothers Auto Supply. Barricade parked directly in front of the store front, shut down engines and non-vital functions, and then transferred control to his avatar. 

Red Alert saw the new avatar move. “Detective Barris?” She asked.

“Yes, Ma'am. Any particular objective in this Auto Supply shop?”

“Not quite what I expected,” Red Alert whispered. Barricade noted that when she reduced volume, her voice has more hiss.

Barricade looked toward Red Alert with one eye and kept his other looking through his windshield to the entrance to the supply shop. He really disliked operating this thing. “Did they make it too pretty, again? Or too ugly?”

“Who?”

Mistake, Barricade thought. Red Alert watched the male-looking avatar slump. Barricade responded over their comm connection. 'This is not my first avatar.'

'You probably had others, designed for use on different planets. I had one I used for inspection of trade ships entering Cybertronian space that appeared a young nebulan male.'

'This is my third human avatar. Skywarp vetoed the uniformed officer I had made as too average looking.'

'I noticed that about him,' Red Alert said, 'in the briefings and training about Earth, Skywarp advocates the use of eccentric appearance as a form of distraction and disguise, and claims that avatars can conform so strictly to a human archetype that they read as false to humans. The so-called “men-in-black”, for example.'

'Skywarp designed my second one, but Slipstream vetoed it as being too young, pretty, and androgynous for the role I was proposing to play. Slipstream designed the appearance of this one, but invited Skywarp to edit the subroutines so I could perform specific actions related to my role. I think they hacked it up. The file size is much bigger than either of the previous two.'

'You came to Earth with an untested highly-customized avatar?' Red Alert's own avatar turned down the corners of its mouth as she commed.

'So, how bad is it?'

Red Alert replied aloud, “You look...experienced.”

“Ugly? I will work with it.” Barricade used his holomatter hands to open a compartment in the door near his seat, which was, otherwise, part of his arm. He retrieved a human-sized outer garment.

“Not ugly,” Red Alert said. She unfastened her seat belt. “You know from diagnostics or reflections or sensors in your hardware?”

“I know. Just...not a good judge of this kind of form. Studied patterns in body language, not...ascetics?”

“You mean 'aesthetics'; the study of the nature of beauty, not those self-disciplined humans who opposes materialism.”

Barricade noted the difference. “Right.”

“You are supposed to be American?”

“Yes.”

“It makes sense then.”

“What?”

“I think Slipstream made you what is sometimes called multi-racial. My study of anatomy focused on similarities, not differences, so maybe we would need a xenobiologist, or a human anthropologist to know.”

“Half-blood, mutt, cross-breed...”

“Those are offensive terms for a human. You simply have a blend of coloring and traits that is not easily categorized.”

“Not useful to profile suspects.”

“In this case, maybe, a good thing for you. Feel free to proudly insist you are simply American.” Barricade scoffed at this, an organic snort-like sound that he disliked.

“I am a Ford,” he said.

“You can joke in English! That seems a good sign.”

Barricade reached across Red Alert to open a small compartment in the dash and retrieved a weapon and holster.

Red Alert saw the gun and put her hand to the door handle as she leaned back against her seat.  
“Why do you need a gun? Where did you get those things?”

“Put in a requisition request with...you know.” Barricade was attempting to be in character, so he could not say aloud that Sunstorm had ultimately approved the request. “I have reasons. Trust me.” Barricade secured the holster and gun about his shoulders, over the black tee he was apparently wearing, then slipped the straight-cut leather jacket over top. This way, he knew, the shape of the weapon was concealed, as would be any small items he secured about his midsection. Muscular arms and tapered torso; maybe this holomatter thing would actually work for him, he thought. “What is your name?”

He knew she was Minerva, but Red Alert supposed Barricade required her full name. “Minerva Tara. Minnie to friends. Mrs., or Dr., depending on situation.”

“Doctor, Nurse or EMT?”

“Doctor in the UK, an EMT in the states, until I am further licensed by the relevant regulatory board.” Or until Slipstream went from passive hacking to cracking and active manipulation of that system.

“Mrs. Tara, then. You go in first. Attempt your objective as before. I will follow and observe. Use comm if you need help.”

Red Alert stepped out of the police car that was Barricade's alt-mode and then up the curb to the walkway along the row of storefronts. She had been here before, but not completed her business. Too many humans too many offers to help. She understood the concept of salespeople, but the experience had been even more alien that that.

Red Alert's actual goal was to find a local supplier of Earth vehicle-care supplies. As one of their teams medi-bots, along with Scalpel and Glit, her knowledge was second only to Scalpel in Seeker mechology and foremost in grounder mechology. Their internal systems were Cybertronian, but employing their transscanning technology and converting to Earth type alt-modes did enable them to make use of many fluids common to Earth vehicles, such as engine oil, coolant, and washer fluid. As well, accessories and mods for their specific alt-modes could be modified to work with Cybertronian shells. They could also make good use of maintenance supplies, such as detergents, waxes and cleaning tools.

Scalpel and Glit had the capability to generate humanoid avatars, but as they were among those Cybertronians with beast type root modes, it took additional training for them to do so. With Scalpel posing, instead, as Thunderblast's pet, and Glit still on Mars, Red Alert was the only medi-bot currently available to operate independently on Earth. Autobot or not, she was assigned to locate suitable suppliers in locations their team might frequent, and report to Sunstorm, their requisitions officer, on what items could safely be used by Cybertronians, either off the shelf, or with minor conversion.

The interior of Maramba Brothers Auto Supply was arranged with many shelving units stocked with supplies and parts. Red Alert had only been to Earth twice before, and only once in America, but she knew from the briefings and training the Seekers of their team had provided, that shops in the Detroit area might be staffed with either humans or automatons. This store was staffed by humans marked by green vests, and name tags. The only automatons she saw were companions to human customers. 

In fact, the current management of Maramba Brothers Auto Supply did not much like robots: automatons or giant alien ones. Their store had been burglarized by a pair of giant robotic construction workers and suffered substantial loss in their stock of oil, which had cost them sales from paying human customers. Several captured images of the offending robots were taped-up within the cash-wrap near the entrance, so that employees could recognize the large mechanisms if they should return and promptly contact Detroit Police Department. Captain Fanzone of the DPD had seemed somewhat sympathetic to their plight, and had been overheard to say he hated machines.

The staff of Maramba Brothers Auto Supply did not hate all machines, just the robots. They loved vehicles and celebrated the local history of automobile manufacturing, which had preceded automaton manufacturing. Many owners and collectors of vintage, performance, and commercial vehicles were among their repeat customers.

The staff of Maramba Brothers Auto Supply were also, largely, though not entirely, male. There was one female employee on-shift that morning, and she did not like the look of Red Alert. The door chimed and the green-vested, female cashier saw a ruggedly handsome man – a police officer of some kind, by the shield on his belt – enter the store. The officer appeared to have a lazy eye, which the cashier thought slightly odd.

Barricade noted the primitive alarm as he walked in through the hinged, glass-paneled door. Primitive, but effective, he thought. The glass panels allowed for high visibility of the main point of egress and the small metal bell gave auditory warning to workers within that someone – potential customer or thief – had entered. His alien interaction subroutines scanned the counter space, female human, green over-garment and name tag and suggested that this was most probably a member of store staff responsible for exchange of currency upon purchase of goods.

“Good morning,” Barricade said, following a suggestion from the running subroutine.

“Mornin, Officer,” the cashier said.

Barricade noted the shortening of the standard greeting and use of title. He panned the interior with his right eye and saw Red Alert was speaking with two other members of staff. He focused both eyes on the cashier; it was difficult to judge depth otherwise. She was looking at him and it seemed...intent, but maybe humans just looked at everyone with concentration. They had inferior visual perception. “Everything all right here?”

The cashier whispered. “That woman over there. I do not think she is a customer. She was here the other day, talking to a lot of male customers...if you get what I mean.”

“I get it,” Barricade lied. He took a step in toward the counter and tried whispering. “You suspect criminal activity, Miss?”

“Maybe it is some kind of pandering, or solicitation,” the cashier said.

Barricade cross referenced the terms. “I think you mean 'prostitution',” Barricade said quietly, amazed there were humans whose understanding of English vocabulary was as incomplete as his own. “Petty misdemeanor. I am not with Vice, Miss, but I will assess the situation, if you have some concern.”

The cashier nodded. Standing close to the counter, Barricade could see the images of the two Constructicons designated Mixmaster and Scrapper. He had not met them, but he understood some of the Seekers had made contact and that they were still in the Detroit. Not part of his team, but Decepticons with vague fealty to Megatron who were considered potentially useful contacts. It had all be explained in a briefing.

“Actually, Miss,” Barricade started, as he searched for appropriate procedural language. “I am part of a new DPD task force. I understand there was a report of theft by some alleged robotic perpetrators?”

“Oh, yes, Sir,” the cashier said eagerly, “there was evidence and witnesses, but the police were unable to locate and apprehend the robot aliens.”

Strictly speaking, Mixmaster and Scrapper were Earthlings, and arguably even Americans, as were the robots designated Soundwave, Laserbeak, Ratbat, Wreck-gar, and the Dinobots. “My task force is interested in the giant robots...to protect and serve human citizens...and their property.” Barricade reached a holomatter hand into his jacket pocket and retrieved a small, rectangular smart card containing contact information. He presented this to the cashier, as he silently sounded-out the letters on her name tag in his processor. “Contact me if you have any information about the robots, Sally.”

The cashier, Sally, smiled, her human mouth seeming to widen and turn up at the corners. “Thank you, Detective Barris,” she said, reading the surface of the card, “I'm Sally, Sally Jones.”

“Miss Jones,” Barricade said. He panned his left eye toward Red Alert, again. His right eye saw Miss Jones' gaze was quite intent. “Is there...did you see something?”

“Sorry! I'm sorry. It was rude. I did not mean to stare, Sir.”

Barricade put his right hand to his face and covered his eyes. Slagging inferior human field of vision, he thought to himself. An average human's eyes would not track separately, but he had been doing so purely out of habit. Barricade scanned for eye ailments, quickly. “Old injury,” he said slowly, “happens when I get tired. Was on duty this past shift.” He dropped his hand and looked up, binocular vision focused on Sally Jones.

“I really am sorry,” Sally whispered. In any case, Barricade considered his mistake to have produced valuable intel. Humans might apologize to him for drawing attention to his seeming flaws. Interesting. He wondered what other glaring flaws in avatar operation would be seen as embarrassing human ailments rather than signs of alien technology in use.

“It was good you noticed,” Barricade said, “Sometimes I do not realize I am doing that. I know it disturbs people. It looks a bit unnatural.”

“A lazy eye is not so uncommon. I do apologize.”

“No problem. I will now assess the other situation.”

Red Alert meanwhile was surrounded by overly helpful sales associates. She had attempted to explain that she was representing a fleet manager and was not in a position to make a purchase at this time, but needed to view their merchandise, in order to report to her supervisor. She tried emphasising that if they simply allowed her to look around on her own, that her boss would potentially make a large purchase, or even become a repeat client. Still, the associates insisted on accompanying her about the interior of the shop, in case she had questions.

Barricade was supposed to be observing, but he seemed rather interested by the worker behind the counter.

Red Alert moved along the aisle stocked with fragrance sprays, air fresheners and fuzzy or shiny ornaments. She determined such items were compatible, as they were mere surface treatments and jewelry, but not truly vital to their cause. She moved on, across a wider aisle, to displays of interior floor mats, seat covers, steering wheel covers and similar merchandise intended to make vehicle interiors more attractive or expressive of personal style for human drivers and passengers. Again, mere jewelry and ornamentation. Perhaps a few items offered protection, but no more than properly programmed nanites. And some of the interior accessories would actually cause problems if dislodged during transformation.

Red Alert crossed the large aisle again, to examine some replacement engine components. A human customer walked directly into her. A fleshy hand lingered on her torso as he stepped sideways, out of her path. Red Alert took calming breaths to focus her processor. She checked her HUD for holomatter diagnostic display, confirmed her settings. She should be approximating typical human density, and had not for example, been intangible. Good thing, she thought, she had adjusted her density appropriately; the human had not discovered the nature of her disguise. Yet, it was still unnerving to be touched so forcefully by one of them.

“Watch where you're going,” one of the associates snapped at the man.

“Please, mind where you are walking, Sir,” the other associate said, more politely.

Barricade saw the encounter from his position in the nearby fragrance and ornament aisle. As the human customer moved near, displaying an expression Barricade suspected was smugness, he moved to intercept. Barricade put his left hand to his hip, brushing aside the front panel of his jacket just enough to give a glimpse of his weapon. “You causing trouble for the lady, Sir?”

“No!” the human panicked, quietly.

“Not trying to pickpocket?” Barricade asked, checking his list of criminal activities, “or was that battery?”

“No. No, Sir! An accident.”

“I think it looked like sexual assault,” Barricade said coolly.

“No! I didn't!”

“I will let you go with a warning, this time, but do not touch any of your...appendages to another without their...”

“Consent?” The human said fearfully, interpreting Barricade's pause as prompt to supply an answer.

“Yes. Their express consent. You are free to go.” More useful intel, Barricade thought; if he paused just long enough, the authority-fearing humans would supply appropriate words for him. Not only that, but their word choice would provide insight into their thoughts and intent.

“Do you need help?” one of the associates asked, again.

“I got it,” Red Alert said. She appeared to shift weight to the front of her feet and lean forward slightly as she extended her right arm to reach a cardboard package of parts from a high shelf. Barricade could see her from the nearby aisle. He noted that one of the workers leaned back to scan Red Alert's frame – check-out her body – as she stretched. “I just need to check the eccentricity and size of these cams to see if they are compatible,” she said.

“They come in standard sizes.”

Red Alert looked up from the box. “Then, your shafts are all a standard size?” The other associate coughed, and then seemed unable to properly ventilate – respirate. Red Alert recognized symptoms alike to difficulty breathing, or choking. “Are you in need of medical attention?” Red Alert asked. The inquiry seemed to worsen the man's state, such that his breathing became overly rapid and deep. “Can you control your breaths?” Red Alert asked quietly, “Breath with me: in through the nose, slowly. Try to hold the breath a moment. Exhale through your mouth, slowly.” She demonstrated this breathing method several times.

The troubled associate was able to eventually slow his own breaths, but immediately afterward excused himself. Red Alert did not understand what had caused onset of the attack. It had the appearances of hyperventilation, but the human associate had not seemed to over exert himself or experience other symptoms of panic.

“Excuse me,” Barricade said politely, as he approached the remaining sales associate. “I require your assistance. When you have time.”

The associate looked to Red Alert and then to Barricade again. Red Alert's studies informed her that his color and posture communicated embarrassment; Cybertronians tended to heat and exhibit constriction of energy fields, rather than change in color. “Sir...Officer?”

“Detective. Off-duty now,” Barricade said, “I want you for questioning, about the furry chance cubes.”

“Furry? Chance cubes?”

“There.” Barricade made his left hand gesture to the nearby aisle.

“Fuzzy dice! Yes, Sir! How may I help you?”

Barricade thought he had just explained that, but perhaps a more detailed request was customary. “Tell me everything you know.”

Red Alert watched Barricade and the human move to the aisle of fragrances and ornaments. Now, she could scan the merchandise without the constant attention of the sales staff, and Barricade would have a chance to talk to another human.

When Red Alert had completed her assessment, she went to find Barricade. He was still in the same aisle and had monopolized the associate's time, asking about each of the many novelties, air-fresheners and ornaments. As Red Alert approached, Barricade sprayed himself with something from a spray pump bottle.

“It works even better inside your vehicle,” The sales associate said.

“I was...sampling,” Barricade said, completely unaffected by the spray. Red Alert thought he should have made himself sneeze, wince or cough in reaction.

'Finished here,' Red Alert told him over comm.

“Interesting scent. I will make a purchase.” The sales associate stood there attentively. “Dismissed,” Barricade said.

The associate gave Barricade a look that Red Alert interpreted as uneasy tolerance, and then left them. “Did your deductive skills determine why the associates think I need so much help?”

“Your attire is provocative.”

“Provoking what?”

“Provoking them to display their automotive knowledge and ability to left heavy packages in order to prove worthy mates.”

“I already have a mate – and my...appearance was approved!”

“May I guess? The one who approved: she is not on the most friendly terms with you.” Most of the team knew Slipstream had forcibly dove Red Alert's processor, before they were on the same team, and that was no lightly taken violation.

Slipstream. “Yes.” Red Alert had thought they could at least be civil with each other. “She should still be making amends to me! Is it really so provocative?”

“I think we should ask the female,” Barricade said, seeming to tip his head to the cashier. “But, whatever else, you are her current spouse's first love. That is...permanent awkwardness.” This was true, but Barricade did not actually know that Slipstream had sabotaged Red Alert on purpose; it merely amused him to assign blame to her.

“How do you know about it?”

“I work for Cid. Cid knows all.” And Acid Storm and he both resented, just a little, that Slipstream had been made their superior in the Intelligence Department, over themselves and Vortex, when she had the least experience of the four. Cid liked having secrets about their superior, even if he was fiercely loyal to Starscream and unlikely to use any information against his Lord's mate. This was not so much the case with Barricade. He saw Red Alert sigh and nod. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Here,” he said. He removed his jacket and offered it.

“Now I understand why you requisitioned the jacket,” Red Alert said as she slipped her arms into the too-long sleeves. If the gun and jacket were separate from his holomatter body, Barricade could give them away, and thus win trust with seeming kindness or disarmament. “Smells like new car.”

“Pretty hot, right?” Barricade took the spray bottle of new car scent and a pair of purple fuzzy dice to the cash wrap. Sally Jones was still at the counter when Barricade set down the items he intended to purchase. “Miss Sally Jones,” he said, “This is Mrs. Minerva Tara. She is a...foreigner.”

“Oh,” Sally said. Maybe they had different customs in her country, Sally thought. “Nice to meet you.”

“A pleasure,” Red Alert said, “I am from Ireland. I moved here for my husband's work. He is a musician.”

“Oh! Is he anyone I would have heard?” Sally asked. Maybe, she thought, Minerva was a former model or a groupie.

“His stage name is Riot. I call him Rory. He is currently part of a new band, with someone from Detroit.”

Riot sounded like a stage name for a rock or punk band – a rock star's wife was probably accustomed to getting away with more eccentric outfits than others. “I haven't heard of him, but that sounds interesting. Maybe they will play some shows locally?”

“They are making plans,” Red Alert said honestly. She lowered her voice. “I apologize if my attire is inappropriate.”

Sally waved her hands before her in what seemed a form of negation. “No, no. I understand. You must be used to making appearances as clubs and shows – have you been in any music videos? Do you have trouble with the paparazzi?”

Red Alert cross referenced the terms in her version of alien interaction programming. “My stylist aims to keep me in the spotlight, but it sometimes has embarrassing results. I do not want to appear on a 'worst dressed' list.”

Sally saw Barricade – Detective Barris in her mind – look expectantly at his purchases. “Just a sec,” she said, “I'll give you the police discount.” Discounts were good, Barricade thought. “There's your total. You can swipe your key.”

Barricade activated a purchasing subroutine in his avatar programming – it looked like Skywarp had created a number of custom subroutines; Barricade did not know what yo-yo even meant – he moved his hand as if to reach in a pocket, and when he raised his hand he was holding a key card. He swiped at the device on the counter. Barricade was temporarily in connection with the financial transaction system. He sent a string of numbers to it, signifying the real account Sunstorm had assigned him for expenses. He probably could have used the connection to steal some information; Barricade couldn't hack alien systems very well on his own, but Frenzy had left him with a number of scripts and routines he was able to employ.

Sally bagged the purchases and then passed the bag over the counter to Barricade. “Thank you!” She said, “You both have a nice day.”

“You too,” Barricade said. He touched his pocket to seemingly stow the key card. He pushed open the door and let Red Alert walk out before him. He did not like having an Autobot at his back, even this one.

Barricade was glad to get back inside his shell, but he kept his avatar active, knowing he would need the tiny hands to stow his few human-sized belongings. Red Alert slipped into the passenger seat, again, and this time remembered to fasten her safety belt right away. Barricade pulled out of the parking space and then out onto the street.

“Not going to hang the fuzzy dice?” Red Alert asked.

“Did not say they were for me.”

“That's rather overt.”

“Did not say they were for someone else.”

Red Alert shook her head. “I need to work on my avatar. I will withdraw back to my shell. Thank you for your help.”

“No problem.”

Red Alert withdrew. The avatar flashed out of sight and the jacket fell down and caught between the seat and belt. Barricade wriggled out of the shoulder holster, at the next red light, then collected all his small belongings and stowed them inside the compartment in his door-arm. Barricade was eager to get back to the team and find if they would clear him for solo trips to Earth. If not, he might have to convince Red Alert to work with him again.

Barricade transferred control to his shell, shut down his holomatter generator, and switched on lights and siren. The human-driven vehicles could not get out of his way fast enough. Authority was sometimes a beautiful thing. Now he had a chance to see what his new alt-mode could really do under Earth's surface atmospheric and gravitational forces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the universe of this fic, Red Alert has converted to a G1-homage alt-mode (because Fire Department Lamborghini is funnier). It's probably similar to a 22nd Century version of the Lamborghini Murciélago.
> 
> Minerva is the name of at least 3 separate Transformers characters, from God Masters, Victory, and Animated respectively. Red's using her name.
> 
> Sally Jones is a human character from Transformers Energon. 
> 
> Riot/Rory is a human character from Jem and the Holograms; Ramjet has adopted his name and profession. 
> 
> Caddock Barris is just a made-up name.
> 
> 'Richard', 'Stacy' and 'Jack' are based on actual Transformer characters, they have yet to be identified by name within the universe of the fic, but readers, who read this and have read String Theory chapters in Barricade's POV, may be able to figure it out. Hint: they are all Micromasters.


End file.
